


The Trimming of the Lamps

by lasersheith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, E rating for later, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Whump, M/M, PTSD, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Slow Burn, Veteran Keith, just so you know what's gonna go down, lighthouse keeper shiro, minor character death: keith's dad and ulaz :c
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-15 17:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasersheith/pseuds/lasersheith
Summary: "The lighthouse does great service to humanity; yet it is the slave of those who trim the lamps." - Alice Wellington RollinsThe sudden loss of Keith's father has his life spiraling out of control. A second chance extended by an old family friend leads Keith on the path to recovery, with a little help from his newfound guiding light.“There are a few antique shops, fishing tours, boat and jetski rentals,” he recited, eyes fixed above Keith's head as he ticked off his mental list of time-wasters, “Some lovely restaurants and bars, a fascinating museum on the history of sea navigation, and there's always the ligh-” He stopped midword and cleared his throat. “Well, the museum is wonderful, anyway.”Keith raised an eyebrow, turning to Kolivan when Antok wouldn't meet his gaze. “You should stay away from the lighthouse.” The icy command brought a chill down Keith's spine. “The man who lives there doesn't like to be disturbed.” Kolivan warned.





	1. Chapter 1

Pinks, purples, and oranges from the early light of dawn filtered through the long, gray shadows cast by the endless row of pines along the winding highway. The crisp sea air drifted in through his open windows and he could almost feel the fresh, salty spray just from the smell, though he knew the ocean was still miles off. 

The radio in his dad's old pickup had been broken for years, but Keith found too much solace in the quiet of the morning and the thrum of his wheels rolling across the pavement to miss it much. He let himself get lost in the way his path twisted through the hills and cliffs, focusing on the scenery and the calm instead of the pounding pulse in his neck. 

The ancient GPS, stuck crookedly to the middle of the windshield right behind the rearview where his father insisted it was easiest to see, bathed the cab in kaleidoscope reflections from the dark, blank screen. Keith knew the turn was coming, and slowed to approach the small airfield. 

There was no gate to greet him. No fence to thwart unwanted entry. No endless stream of soldiers, marching double time, to prep jets bigger than the tiny office at the end of the nearly empty gravel parking lot. Only two runways and handful of small, single engine prop planes stretched through the field in front of him. 

The office building was small but well kept. The paint didn't flake, and the windows were spartan but had unbroken blinds, twisted open to let in the morning sun. It felt more like an old house than a place of business. Keith could only hope it would feel like going home. 

He wasn't sure if he should knock, or just walk in. 

He wasn't sure he wanted to do either. 

His mother's voice in the back of his head spurred him on, “Not everyone gets a second chance, Keith. Please don't take yours for granted.” She'd be halfway to Kandahar by now, he mused. He tried the handle and, finding it unlocked, walked into the building. 

A familiar face looked up in surprise from a pile of papers across the front desk. Kolivan smiled softly and chuckled. “I should have known when you said  _ early _ you'd mean  _ dawn.”  _  He teased, standing up to walk around the desk. 

A wave of bittersweet nostalgia filled Keith as Kolivan stopped in front of him, placing both mammoth hands on Keith's shoulders and leaning back, inspecting him. “You've grown so much, I can hardly believe it.” Kolivan said fondly, eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled Keith in close.

Keith wanted to melt into the hug, but he stiffened, woodenly wrapping his arms around Kolivan's broad waist and patting his back.

Kolivan tightened his grip in a brief squeeze before taking Keith by the shoulders at arm's length again. “I'm so sorry to hear about your father, he was a good man.” His gentle amber gaze swam with sorrow. 

_ I'm sorry.  _ He hated how everyone was  _ sorry. _ Keith knew they meant well. He didn't know why it made him clench his fists, made him want to grab the nearest fragile thing and slam it into the ground until it shattered. 

“Thank you,” he replied quietly, lips drawn into a bloodless line. 

Kolivan nodded, releasing Keith's shoulders and motioning around the office. “Would you like the tour?” 

* * *

 

“Where is Antok?” Kolivan frowned, looking first at the two men refilling the small plane, and then around the side of it, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

The smaller of them, Regris, craned his neck. “Phone. Round back.” He patted the fuel line attached to the left wing. “Pump’s too loud.” He said, shouting over the noise. 

Keith decided he liked Regris. He seemed sharp, gruff, and most importantly, like a man of few words. 

Thace was a different animal entirely. He had an easy-going smile and a friendly presence about him as he introduced Keith and welcomed him to  _ the family. _ From anyone else it would have felt like a platitude or an odd attempt at brown nosing a newcomer. But Thace seemed genuinely warm, a man truly secure in his place. Keith was envious and felt an immediate sense of respect all at once. 

He didn't mind the idle chit chat so much with Thace as Kolivan went to retrieve Antok. They helped Regris steady the fuel line as they moved it to the other wing and checked the weight and balance of the tiny craft. It would have taken the better part of an hour to check and cross check on the types of machines Keith was used to, but the three of them finished in minutes. 

Kolivan and Antok rounded the corner of the maintenance building as Regris climbed into the cockpit. He gave a comically serious, horrendously sloppy, mock-salute before making a brushing gesture with his hand. 

Thace and Keith hurried across the asphalt to meet Antok and Kolivan as the plane slowly taxied to the runway. Keith was captivated, unable to help the awed grin on his lips as the craft sped down the pavement before vaulting into the sky and turning away from the airfield. 

Antok slapped a hand down on Keith's shoulder, jarring him back to the men on the ground. “Must be pretty boring to watch after flying an F-22.” 

Keith shrugged. “Flying’s flying.” His eyes roved back to the sky, homing in on the ever-shrinking dot of the plane in the distance. 

“Well said.” Kolivan's voice grounded him again. “Speaking of, we have a few business matters to discuss.” He gestured back towards the office. 

* * *

The next week's schedule was already pinned to the bulletin board in Kolivan and Antok’s office. Keith's name was listed next to each of his four new colleagues’ throughout the rest of the week, signifying he'd be riding along with someone new every day. 

“We'll have you ride with everyone, get a feel for things. If the week goes well, next week you'll be solo.” Kolivan explained, sipping at his mug of tea. 

Keith nodded, wincing at the bitter taste of his own tea as he took a drink. He'd forgotten Kolivan's hatred of milk and sugar in the long years it had been since they'd seen each other. Antok chuckled, taking pity on Keith as he noticed the grimace, excusing himself to the kitchenette as Kolivan continued. 

“Bookings are posted on Mondays. You're expected at the airstrip, preflight checks complete, thirty minutes before each flight and you're to give no fewer than three days notice if you'll be unavailable, barring emergencies.” Kolivan explained evenly. 

It seemed simple enough to Keith. He needed simple. 

Antok returned, a carton of milk and small sugar dish in tow. He made his own tea drinkable before offering them to Keith. Kolivan shook his head disapprovingly at them, his face stoic and stern. Antok laughed first, spurring them all into a small fit. 

When they'd caught their breath, Kolivan explained emergency procedures, bad weather protocols and when to expect paychecks. The key slipping onto his ring felt heavier than it should have as it clinked gently against the key to his father's truck. 

Kolivan saw the shift in Keith's posture, the way his shoulders tensed, brows furrowed, and neck bowed just a fraction of an inch. “There's a surprising amount to do in town.” He offered, dragging Keith away from the melancholy that seemed to thicken the air in the room. 

Keith looked up, blinking owlishly. He hadn't given much consideration to how he'd spend his free time. 

“Especially if you like seafood. Pendleport is quite famous for our lobster, you know.” Antok added, smiling over his mug. “There are a few antique shops, fishing tours, boat and jetski rentals,” he recited, eyes fixed above Keith's head as he ticked off his mental list of time-wasters, “Some lovely restaurants and bars, a fascinating museum on the history of sea navigation, and there's always the ligh-” He stopped midword and cleared his throat. “Well, the museum is wonderful, anyway.” 

Keith raised an eyebrow, turning to Kolivan when Antok wouldn't meet his gaze. “You should stay away from the lighthouse.” The icy command brought a chill down Keith's spine. “The man who lives there doesn't like to be disturbed.” Kolivan warned. 

Keith nodded, but his curiosity was piqued. Kolivan changed the subject back to the restaurants in town and suggested the five of them go for lunch together to welcome Keith aboard. 

He wanted to politely decline. His truck, his father's truck, was still packed with what little he owned and Keith hadn't been back to the cottage that would be his new home yet.  _ Don't take yours for granted  _ played in his mind again. Keith agreed to go to lunch. 

As soon as Regris was finished with his route and his plane was secured in the hangar, he, Antok, and Thace piled into Antok's SUV, while Keith and Kolivan took Keith's truck. 

They wound their way through the hills leading to Pendleport as the sun tried its best to burn away the cold from the chilly, autumn breeze. Keith found himself pulling his jacket closer to his chest as they drove. Clouds had rolled in off the ocean throughout the morning and early afternoon, casting a gray-blue haze and sapping what little vibrance the already sleepy town might once have had. 

The restaurant was small, with only two tables large enough for a group of five. Several more intimate, two- and three-person tables littered the rest of the dining area. Like most of what he'd seen so far, Keith noticed that everything seemed old, but cared for. 

He ordered the fresh-caught lobster at Antok's insistence. As a local, he was perhaps a bit too proud of the community's well-regarded seafood industry, though Keith had to admit his meal was excellent. He was savoring a buttery, flaky bite, marveling at the way it seemed to melt against his tongue as Thace cleared his throat and wiped his mouth off with a napkin.

“So, Keith, Antok mentioned you used to fly F-22’s? You Air Force?” He asked, leaning towards Keith with his ever-present, friendly smile. 

Keith’s mouth suddenly felt like it was full of ash. He took a sip of water as he choked it down.  _ Kolivan didn’t tell them…  _ Keith wished he would have. “I was.” He offered coolly, eyes fixed on the table between them instead of looking at Thace as he answered. 

He looked up, surveying the table cautiously. Regris was focusing quietly on his own meal, ignoring the wave of tension emanating from Antok and Kolivan's worried silent conversation. Keith bit down the irritation knotting in his throat. His initial judgment of Regris had been completely accurate and Keith liked him all the more for it. 

Oblivious of the palpable awkwardness that fell over the table, Thace continued. “Oh, sorry, of course. Were you medically discharged? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Keith finally turned his eyes to Thace, tilting his head to the side casually as he levelled his steely gaze. “ _ Other than honorable.  _ Don’t really wanna talk about it.” The overwhelming urge to get up and bolt from the table, to avoid the judgment or worse, the pity, he knew was soon to follow. 

“Ah, I see.” Thace replied, licking his lips and cringing. “Well now that I’ve stuffed both feet into my mouth, let’s change the topic, shall we?” He suggested with a laugh. 

All Keith could do was blink in surprise. “It’s… it’s fine.” He assured, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable for Thace’s apparent acceptance. “Actually, I should probably get going soon. Gotta unpack.” 

Kolivan’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned more comfortably in his chair, resting his arms on the table. “Go ahead, lunch is on me. Let us know if you need any help.” The warm smile softened his features and almost tempted Keith to accept his offer.

“Thanks,” he replied, wiping his mouth on his napkin before setting it next to his plate and standing. “See you guys tomorrow.”

Keith forced himself to keep a calm, steady pace until he was in the truck. He collapsed into the front seat and allowed himself a few rapid heartbeats to rest his head against the steering wheel before straightening his back, squaring his shoulders, and starting the engine. 

* * *

On a wide, rocky outcropping overlooking the ocean sat the little cottage where Keith and his parents spent his boyhood summers. He used to look forward to the endless hours on the shell-strewn beach, collecting shiny rocks and playing pirates with his mom while his dad laughed and took pictures. They'd make their way home at dusk, all but dragging Keith's exhausted, tiny body up long, winding staircase leading to the back door. 

He didn’t look around the side of the house to that staircase as he walked up the few short, uneven steps out front. The key shook in his hand as he slid it into the lock, bracing himself against the onslaught of fond memories tinged with loss. Even before he flipped on the light, his eyes swam with tears he refused to shed. 

It still smelled like the sweet, oaky cigars his father only smoked in the summer. The aroma swirled with dust and salt and the shelf full of old books he knew would be in the living room. 

_ I should have just gotten an apartment,  _ he thought bitterly, scrubbing at his wet eyes with the sleeves of his jacket. 

He inspected the tiny kitchen first, making sure the cupboards were in good order and nothing had been left for ten years to ferment in the fridge or pantry. There was still a small stockpile of cheap dishware that would need a good scrubbing, but would be more than sufficient for just him. 

Opening windows as he checked the rest of the house, Keith went from room to room making a mental list of things to fix up and clean, and of supplies he'd need to pick up in town after work the next day. 

The cries of gulls mingled with the soft, even rush of the waves against the rocks outside as he made piles of old items left behind that needed sorting. Keith couldn't bring himself to go into the master bedroom, opting instead to drop his suitcase unceremoniously to the tiled floor in the room he'd always used as a child. With every trip back and forth from the truck he carried in the  boxes of odds and ends, dropping them into the living room, kitchen, or bedroom without much regard for the contents. 

By the time the truck was empty, he was already tired of unpacking. The queen sized bed had seemed luxuriously huge when he was young, but he was thankful his dad had insisted on the upgrade from the old twin when he'd turned 15 and finally hit a growth spurt. Another few unexpected inches had caught him by surprise at 20, and he knew his legs would have hung off the edge of the twin as he sprawled across the dusty sheets. 

Tossing an arm over his eyes, he breathed in the slightly musty, salty air pouring in through the window. He knew he needed to wash the sheets, put away his clothes, organize his books, replace the family photos mocking him from every wall, but he couldn’t drag himself off the bed. Lethargy and anxiety warred in his gut for a few long, tense moments before he finally stood and stripped the mattress. 

The washer had been old when the house was new, and seemed ancient as he stuffed it full of bedding. Keith added “laundry detergent” to his mental list as he pulled out his pocket knife to scrape enough powder out of the solid brick of crystallized soap from the box on top of the machine for a load. Wiping the chalky residue on his jeans, he flipped the knife closed and headed back to his bedroom. 

All of the summer clothing from his youth was still hanging in the closet, so he tore the shirts and boardshorts from their hangers and left them piled in the furthest corner of the room, hidden behind the door, as he emptied his suitcase. He repeated the process for everything that needed folding and tucking into the small chest of drawers opposite the bed. When he was satisfied with his bedroom, the washer signaled the end of its cycle. Once he moved the sheets over, he let the steady thump of the dryer lull him into flopping onto the couch in a cloud of dust. 

Coughing, he waved his hand in front of his face and tried to settle onto the cushions to rest. He only made it a few minutes before he was throwing open the sliding glass door to the backyard and shaking out the pillows and cushions. 

“I was just there early this spring, there shouldn’t be much to clean.” His mother had said when she suggested his relocation. He couldn’t fathom how it had gotten so dusty in just five months. 

His hands paused, the cushions falling limply against his legs.  _ A lot can happen in five months,  _ he thought, blaming the sudden mist in his eyes on the dingy cloud suspended in front of him, and trudged back inside. 

Bone-weary, he pulled a feather duster from underneath the kitchen sink and made his way through every room again, hitting the tops of the shelves, edges of frames and backs of drawers until he was coughing and sneezing. He opened the front and back doors to the light breeze, zipping his jacket high on his neck to ward off the chill, letting the fresh air clear the house and his mind as he swept and mopped. 

He found himself squinting in the dying light before he’d realized the afternoon had faded into evening. Most of the lights were dim and orange but functional, casting long shadows he would once have delighted in using for puppet shows. He was exhausted to his core as he wrestled the clean sheets back onto his bed. 

Only bothering to pull the boots from his overworked feet, Keith sprawled across the warm bedding, letting the dryer’s fading heat seep into his sore back. His eyelids drifted ever closer to his cheeks as he tried to work up the strength to heat something up for dinner. 

Just as he’d decided sleep was more pressing and a big breakfast would make up for the lack of an evening meal, the slow trawling beam of the lighthouse bathed the room in ghostly white light before leaving him blinking, night-blind, in the relative darkness. 

He stood as if pulled by strings and lumbered to the window, leaning on the sill. The lighthouse sat on another rocky outcropping in the cliffs, a deceptively wide inlet separating it from Keith’s new home. Transfixed, he followed the light around with his eyes, closing them as it passed over him again. 

Kolivan’s warning to stay away only made a visit to the lighthouse more tempting, the immature desire to stomp all over a well-manicured lawn that begged  _ please keep off the grass.  _ “The man who lives there doesn’t like to be disturbed.” Whirled through his thoughts with the spinning of the beacon, round and round. 

His father had known the old keeper of the lighthouse. An elderly man, well into his 80’s when Keith had been young, but a kind one. Keith wondered what had happened to him. Had he retired to further inland? Maybe a granddaughter or grandson would be curled in his lap with a cup of warm cocoa as he told stories of shipwrecks and pirates and harrowing storms.

And what of the new keeper? A man who didn’t like to be disturbed... Keith couldn’t help but imagine a bushy mustache and an eyepatch, perhaps a wooden pipe, like some kind of cartoon. His father would have already started on a pot of chilli or a pan of cookies to take over, announcing himself to his new neighbor. Keith closed the window and drew the thick curtains. 

He plodded sluggishly through the rest of the house, closing the doors and windows against the chill of the night. Glancing to his right as he turned on the light to the bathroom, he frowned at the door to his parents’ room before brusquely scrubbing at his face in the meager sink until his skin was pink. A splotch of toothpaste fell from the bristles of his brush to stick to the edge of the porcelain, slowing oozing towards the drain. He scoured his teeth hard enough to make his gums ache and throb to match his chest. Studying his reflection, his fist curled at his side. Only the unpleasant thought of having to stitch his own knuckles back together kept it from soaring into the silvery mirror. 

He turned out the light before returning to the hallway, slamming his bedroom door shut without looking back. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The chill of the morning had Keith curling into a ball around his blanket, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh whine of his alarm. He slammed his hand against the buzzing screen until he could hear only the muted sound of the rolling waves outside. The peaceful melody threatened to pull him back into unconsciousness, but he fought against the siren call of sleep, blinking open his bleary eyes. 

He'd slept better than expected, he realized as he tossed his feet over the edge of the bed onto the plush maroon rug. His toes wriggled into the fibers as he stretched, groaning with the effort. With a mighty yawn, he padded across the icy tile to retrieve an outfit suitable for a long morning in the air before stumbling half asleep into the bathroom.

The ancient water heater and even older pipes whined and clanked with the effort of starting up his shower. The water dribbled like red clay from the pipes at first, clearing away months of rust before finally running steamy and clear.  _ Gotta look into that later  _ Keith’s tired brain filed away along with the other dozens of things that needed doing in the neglected cottage.

He tried not think about what it meant for the state of his sheets. 

He realized too late that he'd forgotten to unpack any of his toiletries except his toothpaste the night before, frowning at the ancient green  _ no more tears!  _ shampoo bottle on the hanging shower caddy. It was too cold to brave the world outside his warm waterfall just yet, so he popped the lid off the bottle, tamping down the memory of his hair styled into a soapy mohawk after a long afternoon spent throwing a football on the stone and shell-riddled shore. 

The vaguely-floral chemical scent consumed the tiny bathroom as he lathered, trying not to gag. The rest of his shower went by in a haze. He toweled off quickly, racing against the frost that threatened to seep into his bones. Not bothering to wipe the mist from the mirror, he retreated back into his bedroom for a heavier jacket and a hat for his still-damp hair. 

He started back toward the bathroom, intent on combing out the unruly knots to avoid a day of teasing, but the light bled out into the hallway, leaving the door to the master bedroom shrouded in a glow of amber that stole the breath from his lungs. It was still too early to head to the airfield, but that door made the cottage feel like a tomb. He had to get out. 

Keith stumbled out the back door, gasping. Shaking his head and scoffing at himself, he tightened the jacket around his still-heaving chest as he focused on breathing more evenly. He marched his way across the barren concrete patio to the top of the winding staircase that twisted down the craggy cliff face to the rocky beach below. The gate squealed in the icy breeze, hanging crookedly on one broken hinge as it swayed. 

Pushing at the sodden wood, he winced at the screech of rusty metal grinding in the otherwise still, pre-dawn hush of the morning. The stairs crunched under his boots as he stepped, months of crystalized debris dissolving back into sand, tumbling through the cracks or sweeping up into clouds of dust trailing behind him. 

The staircase had seemed so much longer when his legs had been shorter. He’d tugged at his mother’s hand, threatening to send both of them careening down to the landing in his excitement to get down to the waves where he knew his father would soon be returning from his morning jog. 

Keith swore under his breath as he reached the bottom landing; the latch on the gate was rusted shut, nearly welded to the strike, and wouldn't come free no matter how hard he pulled. His frozen fingers were half as dextrous as icicles as he tried to work the latch free, deciding after a few frustrating attempts to jump over the waist-high wood. 

He took a few long strides away from the stairs and watched as the fog rolled in from the inky black waves like frigid steam, boiling onto the sand and draping the shore in a thick sheet of mist. Keith could only just make out the spinning beams of the lighthouse overhead. A red light had joined the white one, both of them reflecting and spreading in the thick air, bathing the tall tower and surrounding cliff in an eerie pink glow. 

Keith would never claim to be superstitious or easily frightened, but the sounds on the beach didn't evoke the quiet serenity from his memories. There shouldn't have been anyone for miles, but the sound of crunching shells seemed to radiate from every direction and reflect off of the crashing waves.

His heart pounded again, and he almost called out into the mist before thinking better of it. His father's daily morning jog came to the forefront of his mind as the noise drew nearer.

Keith turned and leapt for the gate, hooking the toe of his left boot on the edge and catching himself with his hands roughly on the wooden steps. He knew they'd be skinned raw as badly as they already stung, but he brushed aside the discomfort as he vaulted the creaking stairs two and three at a time. 

He was panting hard as he crashed into the gate at the top, slamming into the ground when the weak bottom hinge gave way. Laying in the dew-moistened sand atop the rotted wood, Keith let out a half-hysterical laugh at his own absurdity, chest heaving as his lungs begged for air. 

Brushing off the dirt as best as he could with stinging, frozen hands, he set the broken wood up against the fence blocking off the rest of the cliff and surveyed the misty beach below. The visibility was poor, but getting better as the sun slowly bled orange onto the waves. He could just barely make out a silhouette, a man most likely, jogging along the beach towards the lighthouse. 

Chuckling again, he went inside only long enough to wash off his ailing palms in the kitchen sink before climbing into his truck and setting off for the airfield. Kolivan wouldn't complain that he was too early, after all, and ghost or no, he didn't relish the idea of spending any more time on the beach or at home that morning. 

The empty, open road offered Keith the solace of the quiet rumble of his engine as his tires sang against the asphalt. Antok's SUV wasn't yet in the small parking lot, leaving Keith plenty of room to avoid the small sedan and motorcycle that were. Humming lightly under his breath, he strode into the office in a strangely good mood. 

_ Maybe I should scare myself into stair sprints every morning  _ he bit down a laugh at the thought. 

Thace smiled up at him from behind the front desk as he clacked away at the ancient keyboard. “Well good morning, Mr. Early Bird,” he teased warmly. “Regris already put the coffee on if you want some. Preflight checks start in, oh, 20 minutes, let’s say.” 

Keith got the distinct impression Thace wasn't really interested in his input, but he agreed anyway before slinking back into the kitchenette to grab a warm cup of coffee. He didn't particularly care for it as a drink, but the warmth soothed his chilled bones and aching hands. 

True to form, 20 minutes later, Thace was heading out the door with Keith in tow. The preflight checks were made even quicker by Regris having already taken care of fueling and balancing the plane before starting on the day's maintenance of the rest of the tiny fleet. Keith and Thace both offered him a thankful wave before climbing into the cockpit.

Keith pulled on his safety harness and headset as Thace did the same to his left. A small polaroid, yellowed and worn at the edges, was taped to the center of the yoke near Thace's chest. It was two men in Navy dress uniform, smiling proudly on a marina. One was clearly a younger Thace, but the other Keith didn’t recognize. A hulking aircraft carrier stretched out behind them atop the faded deep blue water. Their arms were around each other's shoulders and their heads rested gently touching at the temples. 

He raised an eyebrow and looked up at Thace as he rubbed a thumb across the right side, over the top of the man Keith didn't recognize. “Who's that?” Keith surprised himself by asking. 

Thace smiled fondly, caught in a reverie as his gaze lingered on the man. “His name was Ulaz.” 

The statement was simple, but held such a gravity behind it that Keith almost felt himself pulled towards his copilot. “Oh, I'm,” he replied, pausing with a cringe at his own hypocrisy. “Sorry,” he finished quietly. 

Thace's smile didn't fade, nor did his eyes look up from the photo. “Thank you, it's been a few years now. He was a good man, a good partner.” Chuckling a little, at what Keith didn't know, Thace looked over at him. “That's enough reminiscing, I think. Shall we?” He gestured towards the runway. 

Keith took hold of the controls, nodding. “My aircraft,” he called into the headset. 

Thace's hands dropped to his lap and his feet slid away from the rudders. “Your aircraft.” 

Blood thrumming, Keith taxied the small plane to the runway and scanned the sky. The airfield was far too small to have a tower, and it was the only one for miles. Still, he glanced at the GPS on the console, verifying there were no other aircraft in the area before slowly and steadily punching in the throttle. 

The tiny plane shuddered as it picked up speed, seeming to pulse in time with the thudding in Keith's neck. His heart leapt into his throat as he pulled back on the yoke, sending them hurdling into the gray, misty sky. Grinning into the turn, Keith felt like his own arms were outstretched, tilting like the wings as he looped the plane around into the pattern before following the marker on the flight path. 

“Well, looks like you still got it,” Thace murmured teasingly into the mic. “The easy part, at least.” His eyes twinkled with mischief as Keith risked a glance at him. 

Scoffing, Keith took the plane higher, punching the throttle back in and then pulling it out halfway as he got to his desired altitude. He turned and pumped his eyebrows at Thace as he pulled it the rest of the way, stalling the engine. 

Keith let out a half-crazed laugh as he took the plane into a spin, wing over wing. Thace let out more of a squeal than a laugh or shout, grin spreading across his face as the shift in gravity lifted him from his seat. Leveling out and pushing the throttle back in, Keith laughed again and turned towards Thace. 

“Easy part, huh?” He asked with a smirk. 

Thace shook his head. “Kolivan was right about you.” 

Keith chuckled. “He say I'm an asshole?” 

Thace barked out a genuine laugh in reply. “He said  _ excellent pilot,  _ asshole was all you.” 

Keith enjoyed the easy camaraderie. Thace lifted his spirits far more than he anticipated. A swell of hope bubbled in his chest.  _ Maybe this will be good for me. I still get to fly at least _ he mused as they flew in companionable silence. 

Endless fields of green and brown stretched beneath them. Every misty acre passing far underfoot seemed to draw out the fog plaguing his mind, leaving him more clear-headed than he'd been in five months. It was peaceful, soothing in a way that a bright and clear morning wouldn't have been. 

“My aircraft,” Thace called, jarring Keith from his introspection. 

Dropping the controls and sliding his feet backwards, Keith answered in kind with a raised eyebrow. 

Thace smirked. “Limbo's the name of the game. How low can you go?” He turned and pumped his brows at Keith. “Watch how it's done.” 

Keith scoffed but paid close attention as Thace tipped the nose of the small craft, plummeting them towards the earth below. He flipped up the cover and activated the release for the pesticide reservoir, spraying a thick mist behind them as they almost skimmed the stubby stalks of broccoli as they passed, altimeter wailing. 

Thace flipped the reservoir closed, pulled back on the yoke, and turned to Keith with a smirk. “Think you can beat that?” He asked with a competitive twinkle in his eyes. 

Keith flashed a grin that was all sharp, glinting canines. “Definitely.” 

The rest of the morning and early afternoon went by in a chemical-scented haze of laughter and friendly competition. Keith was worn out by the time they slid gently onto the runway back at Kolivan's airfield. They taxied to the hangar and completed the post-flight checklist at a leisurely pace before heading back into the office. 

Kolivan sat at the front desk, cup of tea in hand as he poured over reports. Setting the cup down with a delicate  _ clink  _ against the saucer, he turned with a broad smile. “So? How'd it go?” 

Thace clapped a hand across Keith's back, sending him careening forward a half a step before he regained his balance. “Kid's a natural. He did great.” Thace punctuated the praise by pulling Keith into a headlock and ruffling his hair briefly before heading into the kitchenette for his lunch. 

Keith grumbled as he straightened. “I'm almost 30, not a kid.” Tugging at the unruly strands that had been matted by hat and headset all morning, he frowned as he realized his hat must have fallen off in the plane. He didn't even want to know what his hair looked like. 

Kolivan chuckled, pulling a comb out of the desk drawer as though he'd read Keith's mind. “26 is hardly almost 30. Enjoy your youth while you still have it,” he advised with a cheeky grin, handing the comb over. 

Swiping it reluctantly, Keith dragged the comb through his tangled hair, wincing at the bite against his still-stinging palms and the harsh tugs at his roots. Kolivan laughed and wrestled the comb from his grip, making quick work of the mess with minimal fuss. 

For good measure, he swatted the top of Keith's head with the comb before returning to his desk. “Regris has taken care of the afternoon's maintenance, you're free to go unless you'd like to help Antok with the filing.” 

As thrilling as filing sounded, Keith knew he had a long list of his own home maintenance to take care of. “Thanks, 'm gonna skip out. Gotta get my place fixed up.” 

Kolivan nodded and wished him luck as he headed back to his truck. 

The trip into town went slower than he was hoping but faster than he expected. There was only one tiny hardware store, but thankfully he'd found everything he needed for the start of the repairs. 

The older couple that ran the shop had all but talked his ear off; they'd been friends with Keith's parents years ago, when they lived in the town permanently, and offered their condolences for his loss and an apple pie should he stop by their house over the weekend. 

Thanking the women for their hospitality, he made an excuse to leave at his first opening, deciding the rest of his needs could be put on hold temporarily. His supplies weren't so low that he'd go hungry or unwashed with a day's delay. 

The sun was only just managing to smear the sky a dingy yellow-orange against the fog as he pulled up the long, gravelly drive back to his cottage. He didn't even bother going inside or unloading the truck before pulling on his father's ancient and dusty work gloves and starting his repairs on the fence and the gate he'd tackled into oblivion that morning. 

He could still make out the twisting pink-red-white swirl of the lighthouse in the distance, though the building was still shrouded in the thicker coastal mist. Keith paused in his drilling to peer out onto the sand, searching for signs of the ghost-turned-man he'd bolted away from earlier in the day. The beach appeared to be empty, though Keith was unwilling to investigate further than a cursory glance. 

He worked outside, pulling weeds, replacing ancient hole-riddled window screens, and smearing spackle into the pockmarked siding, until what little sun there was poking through the shroud fell away, clipped by the distant rolling hills to the west. Head pulsing from squinting in the pale, dying light, he finally dragged himself inside. 

Too tired for a shower, or even to pull his curtains closed, he fell asleep to kaleidoscoping patterns bathing his bedroom in soft pink-red-white light from the lighthouse's great lanterns. 


End file.
